One Man Show
by Akai-neechan
Summary: He still remembered, lying bloodied and broken on the cold floor before the door, thinking how the only thing he wanted now, was to die alone. Spoilers, character death


_A/N: A little something for our favorite Hatter! I hope it never happens, but well... That's why it's called FanFiction. If it was in the series, it wouldn't be here! SPOILERS for some interesting things from the manga, but not too many._

Dragging himself from the battlefield that one last time must have been the hardest thing he had ever done. His body screamed and pain deafened him (and it would have blinded him as well, had he not been blind to begin with) his muscles refused to listen to him. He managed barely a couple of steps before his feet gave out. He had to crawl the rest of the way.

Yet the effort was worth it, Break reasoned. It had been a whim of his, a sudden burning desire to not be just another corpse between the many, to choose his place of death somewhere away from the scene he had created himself. He wanted a place calmer, quieter, and more peaceful. He decided a place like that would suit him better.

So here he was now, a good distance from the bloodshed, so far that the smell of iron now came only from his stained clothes, from his red hands, from his bleeding soul. Here he was now, sitting (slumping) against the trunk of a tall ancient tree with the soft sound of a river flowing somewhere close and the light caress of the grass blades against his cold skin. Here he was, head tilted towards the sky he couldn't see, alone and dying.

But hadn't that been all he had aimed towards? Maybe he never managed to make her wish come true, but at least his own he had fulfilled. He still remembered, lying bloodied and broken on the cold floor before the door, thinking how the only thing he wanted now, was to die alone.

Alone, but never lonely. That was how he had tried to live his life. He would laugh; he would smile and mock everybody. He would push them away with carefully prepared words, he would surround himself with useful tools and then force them away when he had no use of them, or they became too dear to him. It had been what he wanted, and for once he had been given it. He had acquired it with his own strength…

A weak laugh escaped his cracked lips. Who was he fooling? Himself? Probably, because there was no one else around. Was the desire to not be a failure so strong that he would lie to himself so directly? He was only alone now, because they didn't know he was dying. He was only dying because he had pushed himself in a fight for someone else's sake.

After years (how much had they been? Ten? Twenty?) of using each other, Mad Hatter had finally taken that one last piece of life Break had left. To destroy any and all that the Abyss creates never promised to be an easy task, only now the Chain no longer had anything to take from him, and so he would give nothing in return. As a last (not quite human, not quite alive) tool it remained in the back of his mind and waited for his last breath.

Yet stubbornly, Break took a deep one, if only to choke on it and feel warm thick blood spill from his lips. He had nothing left now he was only alive because his conscience refused to give into that long awaited rest. Or maybe because he was so stubborn and such a failure that he had lost even the will to win any longer and just wanted someone to come. Maybe he simply, at that one moment, didn't want to die alone.

It could be anyone, he decided. A Pandora member who seemed to have wandered too far from the field would have been good. That senseless Rabbit that couldn't even tell the difference between kissing and biting could have brightened the mood. Even Oz would have been welcomed, with his sweet smiles that were never really quite there.

But what would have been better was for his loyal left eye to appear, he decided. Of course, he would tell him not to give up, he would demand for him to fight, to live as much as it was impossible. But it would have been good to see- to hear him once more. Break would so easily remember the seeds of hope he had planted in the boy's mind. He would laugh weakly at all the times he messed with him. He would comment on what a good tool he had grown to be.

But there was an even better person to be the audience for his last show! He could almost see in the surrounding blackness the thin glasses, the serious look. He could hear the weary voice, the stiff comments. He could almost feel the extended hand with its careful touch and warmth. A flash of memory passed through Break and he flinched.

How was it that after losing everything he had still had more to lose? How was it that, after all of his intentions and desires, he had still failed himself and allowed these people to get close enough to him to be able to hurt him? The memories of that accursed party where he had for that short while believed the unbelievable… How could his hardened heart be broken again so easily? Had he really been so weak?

Pitiful. He had been unimaginably pitiful. He hated pity. It meant he was weak. It reminded him how weak he was. How weak he had always been. But even in his personal self-pity, he was still cruel enough to wish.

And so he wished, that lady Shalon would be here, that she would hold his hand and speak soft words to him. That she would offer him some sweets and a proper tea to go with them. That she would sit there and stain herself red from his polluted being and still rest her head on his shoulder because he no longer had the strength to rest his on hers. And he wished she would not cry and prove how strong she had become. That she would simply accept it and be able to easily move on, because she knew that mourning would only hurt him more.

He was a selfish person to want that. To desire such a kind, soft woman to waste herself on him. He hated that selfishness. It was only another weakness. It was only another failure.

His mind was finally quieting down, he realized. The sounds of the forest didn't reach him anymore, only a constant yet quiet ringing in his ears. He couldn't feel the pain or the rough trunk behind his back. And no one had come. No one had appeared to speak last words to him, or to hear is own. No one had been there.

But that was fine, he decide as he allowed himself one last smile. That was fine because after all those he had let down, at least in the end by choosing to die alone he hadn't failed…

… himself.


End file.
